The Black Dress
by The Wordless Epoch
Summary: Directly after the escape of Severus from Hogwart's grounds, the school closes. Everyone's, except Harry's and a few others', minds are cleaned of the event Hermione has no recollection of the War. Will this cause chaos when Harry returns to seek her help


Prologue

* * *

"Sydney, _come on_! It's taken you thirty minutes to get into that dress!" I called from outside the ladies dressing room, where I had been waiting for the past half hour.

"Hold on, 'Mione! I'll be right there!" I heard my best friend call from inside.

"If you're not out here showing me your dress in less than fifteen minutes I'm coming in there to get you. You've been trying on one dress for half an hour. I don't want to be here all day!" I argued. "I have to get back to the school gym to decorate for tomorrow's Valentine's Day dance! And I have homework to do, Syd!" I continued. I muttered under my breath, "Yeah, a dance that I'm going to without a date." I never noticed the boy sitting next to me until he spoke in his gentle, suave voice.

"Come now, a pretty girl like you without a date to the most important dance of Seventh year? How did that happen, pray tell?" He smiled.

"Well, I'm not sure how it happened. No one asked me." I smiled back. I flipped my sun-streaked brown hair over my shoulder.

"No one asked _you_? Aren't you the most popular girl at Gryffe High? I don't believe it." he said.

"Well, believe it. And yes, I _am_ popular. But it's only because...well, that's not a story for first meetings. Sydney, _hurry up_!" I called, yet again.

"Man, someone needs to take a Midol!" Sydney snapped jokingly, walking out of the dressing room, three dresses draped over her arm. "None of them..._Oh my God_..." she gasped, noticing the boy sitting next to me. The dresses dropped to the floor and color crept into her cheeks. She started to babble an apology.

"No need, no need. I just came to see Hermione." The boy said. I glanced at his raven black hair and emerald green eyes. "And I found her..." he whispered.

"Who are you?" I asked quietly.

"You don't remember? What about the werewolf? What about the troll? Fluffy? Hagrid? Don't you remember me, Hermione?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, but you must have the wrong person..." I said. I was certain that this boy was a lunatic. I stood quickly and went to a rack full of dresses.

"Hermione, what about Snape? What about Flitwick? You were the first person to levitate a feather in Flitwick's class..." I shook my head fervently. He continued glumly, "You don't remember that either, I take it."

"I really am quite sorry, but no." I apologized.

"You used to like Lockhart. What about the pixies? What about trying to figure out who was trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone? And who was the Heir of Slytherin? What about your enlarged teeth in fourth year? And all the other times-"

"You don't need to go any further. I really think you have the wrong person. Sorry," I said. I began to walk away, when he ran after me and stood in front of me.

"I'm Harry, Hermione. Harry Potter." he said, looking into my eyes.

"Excuse me, who?" I asked.

"I'm Harry Potter, Hermione. Don't you remember me?"

My head started to ache and my stomach clenched. My pulse accelerated. The pain came shooting back to me and I was transported back into my innermost deep memories. "Harry..." I whispered. Tears welled in my eyes and I quickly wiped them away. I could feel my knees giving way, but I let myself collapse onto the linoleum floor, listening to Sydney shouting my name. Only the boy did nothing; he knew what was happening.

He knew the spell was wearing off.

I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to tell myself that this wasn't happening; he was dead. But the memories came flying back, proving me wrong, time after time after time. "Harry..." I whispered again. I fell into a stream of unconsciousness, awakening two and a half hours later.

I've learned more about my past, things that I didn't remember. I don't know why I should believe Mr. Potter, but I do; I trust him completely. He could be corrupting my mind with all of his stories of werewolves and trolls, cauldrons and potions; Quidditch and Death Eaters. But I don't really care. My life's an open book; his stories are my past, and my past is the prologue of my life.

* * *

**_How is it so far? I've read books where the prologue is in the first person and the rest is in the third. I thought I'd use that technique in my story, just to make it interesting._**

**_Sorry about the whole thing with Harry...more info in the next chapter._**

**_Love, Ryn_**


End file.
